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I couldn’t stop staring at her clearly chilled arms. It riled up that idea I’d had earlier, that she wasn’t looking out for herself. An urge to demand she pay attention to her own body and needs rose in me, but I already knew her well enough to know she’d argue with me if I made my accusations out loud.
That would drive me insane. I dropped my shopping bags to the ground at my feet and shrugged out of my lightweight jacket. “Here.”
She shook her head. “No, seriously, I’m fine.”
I didn’t move my hand.
She quirked an eyebrow at me. “I said, I’m fine.”
But an involuntary shiver gave away that she was bluffing.
I clenched my fingers into the fabric of the jacket because putting her over my lap and spanking her ass ’til it was pink wasn’t an option. Nor were any of the other ways I wanted to punish her.
We were at odds, neither of us willing to back down.
Slowly, a smile crept across her pretty face. “I’m really annoying you right now, aren’t I?”
“A bit,” I admitted.
She reached up and slapped me gently a couple of times on the cheek. “Get used to it, Zephy. I’m a hard pill to swallow.”
She ducked beneath my arm to grab the shopping bags full of cleaning supplies from the ground and strode across the lawn to the church. “I’ll start in here.”
Had she really just called me Zephy? I had never been called that in my life. Zeph, sure, but only rarely and by friends I’d lost contact with once I’d joined the church. To my family and parishioners I was always Zepherin.
I followed her in some sort of Lyric-whirlwind shock, and by the time I got out the key to the church door, she was already rifling through the bag of supplies I’d bought.
“Ugh. Pine-scented disinfectant, Zeph? Worst scent in my opinion. But oh! Purple gloves? That’s my favorite color, you know?”
I knew. Or at least, I’d assumed. She often came out of the club wearing purple sweatshirts or pants. “So, this is the church,” I said dumbly, but thinking clearly around her wasn’t easy. I pulled out a cloth. “Sorry about the pine scent. I didn’t know it offended you. Here. I’ll help.”
She snatched it out of my hand. “No, you won’t. I’m here to do a job and get paid for it.”
“I didn’t mean I wouldn’t pay you.”
“No, but I can’t take it from you if I don’t feel like I earned it.”
“Admirable, but I don’t mind. I have nothing else to do tonight.”
She’d already spritzed the liquid all over the first pew and was busily wiping it down with a cloth. “Go watch TV or read a book.”
She was more interesting than either of those options, not that I could say that. “It’s your first night…”
She stopped her scrubbing and lifted her gaze to meet mine. “Scared I’m going to steal from your piggy bank?”
I blanched. “What? No. Not at all.” She might have been broke and from Saint View, but I instinctually knew Lyric wasn’t a thief.
Thieves could spot other thieves a mile away.
She shoved her hands on the curve of her hips. “Zeph, if you just want to hang out ’cause your perfectly priestly house is boring, you can just say so.”
I stifled a smile. “It’s not boring. Just—”
“Lonely?”
I nodded.
Something in her softened. “Fine.” She pointed to the pew she’d just cleaned. “Sit. Talk while I work. I forgot my headphones anyway.”
